


when you feel the wear

by growlery



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Background Relationships, Drunkenness, Ensemble Cast, Gift Giving, M/M, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Sabotage, Stress, Workplace Relationship, bastardised canon plot elements, people being taken care of when they’re sick, realism what realism, sexual harassment seminars, sharing food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miller looks up as Monty approaches, and smiles. “Message from Clarke?”</p>
<p>“She says to tell Bellamy he’s a prick,” Monty relays, “and also where are the figures she asked for last week.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you feel the wear

**Author's Note:**

> for thehundredrarepairs, but I started writing this months ago, oh god. it grew out of me and [yasmin](http://naessas.tumblr.com) wailing about how there should be more fic about monty and miller being clarke and bellamy's seconds, and it's… kind of that? but it's mostly about monty and miller being ridiculous in love, because i have a problem. there are also a whole heap of background relationships, but they're mostly pretty minor – bellamy/raven(/clarke(/wells)), lincoln/octavia, jasper/maya and fox/harper. title is from happy with me by holychild. so many thanks are due to yasmin for bashing this out with me, i love you best bb. ♥

Miller looks up as Monty approaches his desk, and smiles. “Message from Clarke?”

“She says to tell Bellamy he’s a prick,” Monty relays, “and also where are the figures she asked for last week.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Miller says dryly. “You can wait if you like, this shouldn’t take too long.”

Monty nods, leaning against the edge of Miller’s desk. It’s much less cluttered than Monty’s, but Monty likes taking note of the things that accumulate before Miller has a chance to ruthlessly clear it out. There’s a single potted hydrangea, an upgrade Monty suggested from the cactus that Miller started out with; Miller’s beanie, sitting in fidgeting distance of his hands; one worn photo of his dog, Lacey, taped up behind the computer; and, tucked away right at the back, a card.

Monty frowns. Miller’s birthday was months ago. Monty glances over at where he’s muttering vague obscenities at his computer screen and typing furiously, before shifting minutely towards it.

“Bellamy says to tell Clarke she’s an ass,” Miller says, finally, “and also to _have_ her damn figures, she better have his back with the head office tomorrow. Emphasis his.”

Monty grins. “I’ll pass that on.”

“Oh, and Monty?” Monty stops three steps away from Miller’s desk, his heart pounding. “You’re a terrible thief.”

Monty feels in the pocket of his waistcoat for the card, and curses. When he turns around, very slowly, Miller’s holding it out, the fancy font of the _Congratulations_ clear even from this distance. 

“It’s from my dad,” Miller tells him, “for getting this job.” 

“I’m sorry,” Monty rushes out, and he is. Miller doesn’t talk about his dad much, but Monty knows enough to know that this is kind of a big deal for Miller. 

“As you should be,” Miller says, “you nosy piece of shit,” but he’s smiling, and Monty relaxes. 

*

Monty loves office debriefings. Office debriefings are the best. They’re always vague and boring enough that he can safely drift off at the back, unless Clarke’s giving them. Clarke pays too much attention. 

Today’s is on Relations with Grounders Inc, according to the slide behind Wells’s head. It seems to be pretty much an opportunity for Wells to ream people out for accidentally-on-purpose stealing Grounders’ clients and starting this inter-firm war, and by people Monty means Finn. Finn’s really lucky he’s good at his job, and has also known Raven since forever, or he’d have been let go a long time ago. 

“Seriously,” Wells says, “all I’m asking is for you to be civil. They don’t need to be your best friends, but if we’re going to survive, as a company and as people, we do kind of need to work together.”

Monty will never be able to prove that he’s staring right at Bellamy when he says this, but Bellamy smirks, and Wells narrows his eyes, and it’s more than enough confirmation. 

Wells lets them go about a half hour later, and Monty heads to one of the meeting rooms to eat his lunch. The seats are all broken in one way or another and there’s always a draft, so it basically never gets booked, but it’s much quieter than the cafeteria. The cafeteria also doesn’t have a flat screen mounted to the wall, which, really, somebody should look into sorting that. 

Laptop tucked under one arm, Monty pushes open the door with his hip, and then stops short when he sees Miller frowning at his own laptop. 

“Oh, sorry,” Monty says, “I didn’t realise you’d booked the room.”

“Nobody books this room,” Miller says, “did _you_ book this room?”

Monty waves his lunch at him in explanation. “What about you?”

“Raven needed to talk to Bellamy. I was advised to make myself scarce.” Monty raises his eyebrows; he’s heard the rumours about the two of them, of course he has, but they’re both pretty private about that sort of thing, and Miller’s never given anything away. Even now, his face is totally impassive. It’s frustrating, but Monty grudgingly respects Miller for it. “You don’t mind company, do you?”

“Not at all,” Monty says, and he gets himself set up in the seat next to Miller. “I was gonna put last week’s Brooklyn Nine Nine on, actually, if that’s okay?”

“I fucking love that show,” Miller says, his eyes lighting up, “ _have you ever met a human woman_?”

“ _Our friendship is little girl holding little boy’s hand_ ,” Monty says, and Miller cracks up.

*

Monty doesn’t like mornings. To be fair, mornings don’t like Monty very much, either, but they usually get on a lot better when he’s on his second espresso.

Apparently, the healing powers of caffeine can’t do much for _betrayal_.

“Betrayal?” Miller echoes, clearly holding back a laugh, and Monty glares at the other side of the coffee shop, where Jasper’s laughing at something Maya just said. 

The thing is, Monty loves The Dropship. He’s been coming here ever since he started working at the Ark’s Washington office. It's basically on the doorstep of his and Jasper's apartment, which itself is only a block over from Miller's, but he’s started liking it a lot less since Maya started coming here, too. 

(Monty has nothing against Maya, at least in theory; she’s a fundraiser for The Mountain, a medical research charity that they worked with for a while until Grounders took them back, and from the few interactions they’ve had, she seems like a total sweetheart. 

Monty has plenty against Jasper completely ignoring him, for the millionth time, in favour of his awful, ridiculous heart eyes.)

Miller shifts his and Bellamy’s coffees around so he can pat Monty’s shoulder. “You’ll get over it,” Miller says, and Monty shrugs. 

“It wouldn’t bother me so much if he weren’t a dick to them too,” he says, because it’s _true_. “Did you know he called Harper low-hanging fruit when she asked him out? He was lucky she even looked at him.”

Miller nods gravely and pats Monty’s shoulder again. Miller doesn’t usually touch him this much, doesn’t usually touch anyone this much, actually, but Monty doesn’t think he minds. He thinks he could get used to it, actually, if it were something Miller wanted to keep doing. Monty’s not sure how to communicate this to Miller without sounding like kind of a creep, so he just smiles in a way he hopes is sort of encouraging. 

“We’re gonna be late,” Miller says, “want me to drag Jasper out of here by his hair?”

Monty laughs at the mental image that conjures up for him, but shakes his head. “Go on without me,” he tells Miller gravely. “There’s no hope left for me, but you can still make it.”

“Nah. If you’re staying, I’m staying,” Miller says, and Monty hides his smile behind his coffee cup. 

*

“You’ve got your meeting with Lincoln today,” Monty reminds Clarke as he hands over her latte. “Can you at least try and be more subtle about trying to poach him from Grounders Inc? I’d really like fewer angry emails from Indra to deal with.”

“I am not trying to poach him,” Clarke says, with great dignity. “I’m just making him aware of the excellent opportunities he would enjoy if he ever decided to come work with us, entirely of his own volition.” Monty just looks at her. “Okay, fine, I’ll be subtle.”

Monty nods, satisfied. He’s not entirely sure Clarke knows what subtle means, but he is sure that she’ll try very, very hard. 

It’s an unusually quiet day, otherwise. After Monty’s shown Lincoln into Clarke’s office and made insistent eyebrows at Clarke behind his back, he catches up on his email backlog. There’s a message from Wells about a conference he wants to send a few people to, something important-looking from Bellamy – so, Miller – and an actual email from Miller, with the subject line _shit bellamy says when he thinks i can’t hear him_. Monty chuckles to himself, but saves it to enjoy later. Right now, he has important business to deal with.

**From:** Monty Green ( monty.green@dc.theark.org)  
**To:** Octavia Blake ( octavia.blake@dc.theark.org)  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: alert  
  
you didn’t hear this from me but Lincoln’s here  
  
(p.s. pizza – ham and pineapple)  
  
**From:** Octavia Blake ( octavia.blake@dc.theark.org)  
**To:** Monty Green ( monty.green@dc.theark.org)  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Re: alert  
  
you are a god among men, _thank you_  
  
(ps: you’re also a godless heathen, wtf @ pineapple  
pps: but a deal is a deal  
ppps: you’re still a pizza heathen)

  
“Monty,” Clarke says, after Lincoln has left, “can I see you in my office for a minute?”

Monty narrows his eyes in a way he hopes accurately conveys how pissed off he’s going to be if he does, in fact, have to deal with another slew of emails from Indra. Clarke’s cheeks are pink, and she doesn’t look at him properly until he’s sat in one of the seats in front of her desk. 

“Clarke, I swear to god,” Monty starts, and Clarke says, “I was on my best behaviour, I _promise_.”

He eyes her warily. “What is it, then?”

“I thought it was me who invited Lincoln here,” Clarke says, “but it turns out they’ve been slow-playing us for kind of a while now.”

“What are you saying?” Monty says, dread now settling firmly in the pit of his stomach. “Did Indra send him? Did _Lexa_ send him? Is this a hostile takeover?”

“No, no, Monty, no,” Clarke says, “nobody’s getting taken over, hostile or otherwise. Actually, kind of the opposite.” She smiles, small and pleased. “What would you say if I told you that The Ark and Grounders Inc were merging?”

Monty’s speechless for a few seconds. “I would say that it’s an excellent business decision,” he manages eventually, “and, well, congratulations.”

“It’s not final or anything,” she says. “Bellamy and I still have to discuss it properly, and then we have to meet with Lexa to hash out the details, but we have already discussed the possibility. It’s in everyone’s best interest. We’d be fools to turn them down.”

Monty nods. “I appreciate you telling me anyway,” he says, stilted. 

“Don’t be silly,” Clarke says, “of course I had to tell you. You’re my number two, always. Or, well,” she relents, “until you realise you could do way better than being my assistant, but I live in vague, selfish hope that will never happen.”

Monty flushes, pleased. He knows he’s technically overqualified for this job, like, by a lot, but it’s nice to be reminded. Anyway, after interning at a startup his sophomore year of college, Monty was pretty sure the tech industry was decidedly not for him. He'd rather just work on his own projects when he gets ideas, and he actually _likes_ it at the Ark; he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

Miller’s hovering at Monty’s desk when he emerges, shaking his head at how messy it is, no doubt. Monty grins at him. 

“Now who’s being nosy?” Monty says, nudging him. “What can I do for you?”

“Have you seen Octavia?” Miller asks. “Bellamy’s looking for her. I thought she might be down this neck of the woods, what with Lincoln being in the office today.”

“I have no idea why you’d think that,” Monty says, widening his eyes. “But, no, I can’t say that I have.”

“You’re so full of shit, Monty,” Miller says, laughing, and Monty doesn’t know why that makes him flush. “Just send her down if you see her, yeah? They’ve got shit to talk about.”

“I won’t,” Monty says, which isn’t even a lie; Octavia was waiting for Lincoln when he came out of Clarke’s office and offered to take him out to lunch, and left with her arm slung through his and a triumphant smile on his face. “But sure, okay.”

*

Jasper staggers into the meeting ten minutes late, panting. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, “I didn’t know we were in here ’til, like, literally two minutes ago, _sorry_.”

Bellamy doesn’t look impressed. “There was an email sent out about the change in venue three days ago, Jasper,” he says. “This is not acceptable.” Jasper looks suitably chagrined, and Bellamy sighs. “Just, sit down, I haven’t said anything too important yet.”

Clarke makes the expected crack about him never saying anything important, and Bellamy’s nostrils flare. In the ensuing chaos, Monty looks over at Miller. Miller looks back at him, smiling innocently, and Monty just shakes his head and smiles back. It’s nice of him to do that for Harper, and it’s not like Jasper doesn’t kind of deserve it. 

“As I was saying,” Bellamy says pointedly, “I’m sure you’ve all heard about the possible merger with Grounders Inc.”

“Didn’t hear anything possible about it,” Raven says, arching her eyebrows, and Bellamy sighs. 

“Yeah, okay, it’s basically a done deal,” he says. “You must have a lot of questions about what this means for us, and for you, and I’m here to answer them. First, let me assure you: we look out for our people, here, first and foremost.”

Monty zones out a bit after that; Bellamy gives a good speech, but it’s all business chat, and it’s nothing Clarke hasn’t already discussed with him. Under the table, he gets out his phone and starts flicking aimlessly through his news feeds. 

Miller’s face pops up on his screen, and Monty opens the message. It’s a gif of a dog yawning. Monty grins, and sends back a vine of someone playing music with their dog on percussion that he saw on tumblr a few days ago. He gets a series of exclamation marks in return, and then, _you’re teaching lacey to do that holy shit_. 

Harper kicks him under the table. “Subtle, Romeo,” she mutters, and Monty kicks her back, but Bellamy chooses that moment to look over at them and raise his eyebrows, so he’s grudgingly grateful that he’s no longer looking at his phone. 

Finn raises his hand, which takes Bellamy’s attention away from him before he can get too suspicious. 

"I guess I just don't understand," Finn says. "Last month they wanted to see us crash and burn, and now they’re proposing a merge? Are we really trusting this?"

“The peace talks with Lincoln were your idea,” Bellamy reminds him, and Finn makes a face. 

Monty promptly zones out again, but he leaves his phone in his pocket, this time. 

*

Most days, Monty loves his job. Most days, it is challenging and rewarding and something approaching fun. Then again, most days, he hasn’t managed to fuck up someone’s paperwork and been yelled at by four people in a row. 

He’s very close to laying his head down on his desk, or escaping to cry quietly in the bathroom, when Miller rounds the corner and stops in front of him. 

“Hey, Miller,” Monty says. It’s kind of surprising, and not surprising at all, the way everything in his body got lighter at just the sight of him. He tries to smile, tries not to dwell on it. “Bellamy need something?”

“Oh, no.” Miller coughs. “There’s, uh, something wrong with my computer?”

“You know we have an IT department for that,” Monty reminds him. He sometimes feels like he should get a sign that says something to that effect and stick it up on his desk, actually, because everyone he works with is an asshole. _Just because I got a Computer Science degree doesn’t mean I know why your email isn’t working_ , he might write, or maybe, _No, I’m not hacking your ex’s Facebook so you can embarrass the shit out of them_.

“Yeah,” Miller says, “but you won’t make fun of me for not knowing what an etherweb cable is like Wick does.”

“Ethernet,” Monty corrects, but gently, and Miller smiles.

“Exactly,” he says. “I mean, don’t worry about it if you’re busy, but-”

“Not busy,” Monty lies, getting to his feet. He was gonna have to stay late, anyway. “What seems to be the problem?”

“The screen’s just not coming on,” Miller says, “and before you say it, yes, I tried turning it off and on again. Twice.”

Monty hums. It takes him approximately ten minutes crawling around under Miller’s desk, navigating around neatly-separated wires, to find the source of the problem.

“Did you maybe try plugging the screen cable back in?” he asks, amused, as he holds up the dangling cable.

“Uh,” Miller says.

“Try a bit harder the next time you want a break from work, yeah?” Monty says, and Miller laughs. 

“Like you don’t go smoke up with Jasper every time _you_ want a-”

“Miller,” Bellamy barks, making both of them jump, “if you’re quite done staring at Monty’s ass, we have a meeting to get to.”

Monty’s mouth widens in mock-horror, and he mouths, “ _Pervert_ ,” at Miller as he rolls his eyes and follows Bellamy out. 

*

Miller doesn’t show up for their morning coffee run, which Monty is unreasonably disappointed about until he and Jasper get to work and are bombarded by no less than four very, very excited dogs on their way out of the lift. 

“Oh man,” Jasper says, “how did we forget about National Bring Your Dog to Work Day _again_.”

Monty just shrugs, too busy being happy about the fact that Miller didn’t just abandon him to deal with Jasper and Maya’s dancing around each other alone; he had a Lacey to take to work with him. Monty can definitely deal with that. In Miller’s hierarchy of needs, small living creatures dependent on him for love and care rank above pretty much everything else in the entire world, Monty knows. 

Nobody seems to be working, even Bellamy, who'd usually be giving a rousing speech about how they're letting _themselves_ down more than anyone else by not giving their all. Instead, he's kneeling on the ground to pet Raven’s dog, making what sounds like honest to God cooing noises, and Raven's looking down at him with an expression on her face that is trying very, very hard not to be fond. 

Monty finds himself at Harper's desk, leaning against it while she takes about a billion pictures of everyone and the dogs. 

"Your turn," she tells Monty, and then yells, "Miller! Lacey's needed for a photo op."

Monty would protest, but Lacey's pretty much the best dog ever, and Miller grins widely when he appears with her. Monty’s chest does something ridiculous, but he’s surrounded by dogs; that’s to be expected. 

"Always happy to be of service," Miller says, "when dogs are involved, anyway."

Monty grins back, can’t help himself, ignoring the thing in his chest as they both squat down to pose next to Lacey. 

*

“But you understand, right,” Jasper says, for the millionth time, and Monty echoes, “Yeah, man, totally. Finally getting a date with Maya is so much more important than going to the midnight release of a film we’ve had tickets for months for.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Jasper promises, and he looks so happy that Monty just sighs.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, forcing himself to smile. “Say hi to Maya for me, and for god’s sake don’t fuck this up, okay?”

Jasper hugs him, and Monty doesn’t bury his head in Jasper’s shoulder, because that would be ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop him wanting to a little bit.

The office empties out steadily, and once the quiet starts getting under his skin, Monty gets out his laptop and takes it into one of the meeting rooms. 

“Hey,” Miller says, when Monty pushes open the door. 

“Oh, hey,” Monty says. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see Miller here. It is kind of their meeting room, after all, the one they always end up in when they’re working late at the same time. Monty tries not to think about the fact that he and Miller have this thing that they share, just the two of them; it makes his stomach twist, and he’s not sure why. 

“Weren’t you seeing a movie with Jasper tonight?”

Monty exhales slowly. “Jasper bailed,” he says. “I decided to drown my sorrows in work. What’s your excuse?”

“The fucking merger,” Miller says, shaking his head. “I’m pleased about it, don’t get me wrong, but fuck is it a lot of work.”

Monty nods. Miller doesn’t have to tell him. He pulls up the stuff he was working on before and starts going through it again. 

“You shouldn’t let him ruin your night,” Miller says suddenly. Monty looks up, confused. Miller looks… something, Monty doesn’t know, can’t read the expression on his face, but it’s soft, and Miller keeps licking his lips. “You’ve been talking about this for months, dude. You should go.”

“It won’t be the same by myself,” Monty says, staring hard at the keyboard. “It’s- it’s fine, we’ll just go some other time.”

“You’ll get spoiled in, like, ten minutes, and you hate that,” Miller says, and, well, he’s not wrong. “If you’ve still got Jasper’s ticket, I mean, I’ll go with you.”

“Really?”

“Beats staying here,” Miller says, and Monty grins. 

*

“I cannot _believe_ you,” Monty hisses, aghast, as they make their way inside the movie theatre. “How can you like salty popcorn better than sweet?”

Miller waggles his eyebrows, says, “It’s not the only thing I like salty,” and Monty says, “That was _terrible_ ,” and is very, very glad it’s too dark for Miller to make out his expression. 

They find seats in the middle near the back, far enough away from any couples or groups of loud, annoying teenagers. Miller talks through the adverts and trailers, mostly muttered commentary that makes Monty giggle, but he goes silent as soon as the lights start to go dark. Miller clearly understands the sanctity of the cinema-going experience. Monty likes that in a person. 

Monty is spellbound through, like, the whole thing, except for the time he reaches for the popcorn at the exact same time as Miller does, and their hands brush, and it’s- it’s a silly rom-com thing, it’s not supposed to actually make your heart beat faster in your chest. He looks resolutely back at the screen, and it’s not hard to lose himself in it again, exactly, but it’s in the back of his mind for the rest of the movie, Miller’s skin against his. 

“That was awful,” Monty says, as they make their way out, “I want to see it again immediately.”

Miller laughs, says, “Such a fucking nerd,” but he enjoyed it too, Monty heard him laughing, and he grins happily. 

Monty isn’t sure what to do after they’ve exhausted arguing about the (lack of) plot, making fun of the people who were sitting a few rows in front of them and arguing about the plot some more. Miller laughs a lot, and he looks happy, and Monty is so glad that he’s here, and Monty can’t help but wonder if this was a date. 

(Monty hasn’t been on a lot of dates in his life; he doesn’t exactly have a great frame of reference, here. It doesn’t feel like when he hangs out with Jasper, when things are easy and he doesn’t have to try, but it doesn’t feel like when he hangs out with anyone else, either, where he’d be perfectly content to just leave it at this, say good night and head home.)

“You know, I’m kinda hungry,” Miller says, into the lull, and then looks at Monty, eyebrows raised as if in question. Monty isn’t sure what exactly he’s asking, but he nods anyway. 

They get fries and burgers from the McDonalds across the street from the movie theatre and sit in the corner, making use of the wi-fi to check their news feeds. As Miller predicted, there are already untagged, spoilery gifs all over Tumblr. Monty scowls at all of them. 

Still disgruntled, he thumbs into Facebook to check his notifications, since Jasper’s updated his status. 

♥  
In a Relationship With Maya Vie

Vincent Vie, Octavia Blake, Dante Wallace and 36 others like this.

“Looks like Jasper’s date went well,” he comments, holding up his phone to show Miller. He’s not bitter any more, not really, and the picture Jasper posted with the status is sort of painfully cute, his and Maya’s heads tilted into each other, matching grins on their faces. 

“He ditched you to go on a date?” Miller says, frowning. 

Monty shrugs. “He really likes Maya. I don’t know. I have a good feeling about them.”

“Still shitty,” Miller says, and Monty shrugs again. 

“Thanks for coming out with me,” he says. “I had a good time. You’re a good movie buddy.”

“Any time you need a movie buddy, just let me know,” Miller says, and it sounds like he means something else, maybe, or maybe he just means that he likes movies and likes watching them with Monty and anything else is just Monty projecting his own stupid feelings. Monty tries not to sigh too heavily, tries to just smile back at him. 

“Same,” he says, or tries to, anyway, since most of it gets swallowed up in a yawn. Miller grins, soft, and Monty has to look away. 

“Come on,” he says, “let’s get you home.”

They walk back together, elbows just touching. Miller's apartment is closest, so they go via his street, and Monty stops at Miller's door, unable to hold back a yawn again.

"You can crash at mine, if you like.” Miller hesitates. “I have a pretty big sofa.”

Dates don’t ask if dates want to crash on their sofa, Monty is pretty sure, and Monty really needs to stop _thinking_ about this. If this was a date, it was a pity date, and Monty doesn’t think he could bear that. 

“Nah,” he says, making himself smile, “I have a pretty big bed, and it’s not that far away. But thanks.”

“Right,” Miller says. “Good night, man.”

“'night,” Monty says, and doesn’t watch Miller go into his building. 

*

hey nerd,  
b wants to know why ur boss has stopped  
being able to answer emails. get an answer  
out of her re the projections pls im begging u  
-m (not murphy) 

hey,  
is the email thing contagious? lemme know  
i don’t wanna catch it.  
-m 

sent over the report. send it back  
when you’ve looked it over.  
-m 

Monty takes the post-it notes down from where they were stuck up on his desk and sighs. He might be avoiding Miller, just a little bit, just until he can go back to being only vaguely infatuated with him. 

It’s not really working out. 

Monty feels the space where Miller should be even more keenly than he feels Miller’s presence, especially when he’s standing in line at the coffee shop that adds a half hour to his commute and all he can think about is the hilariously offensive things Miller would have to say about all the unbearable yuppies standing in line in front of him. 

Monty’s not sure when this happened, exactly, when Miller stopped being an unfairly attractive colleague that Monty had very unprofessional thoughts about, sometimes, and became a wistful ache in Monty’s chest that he just can’t seem to shift, no matter how hard he tries, but he _can_ get back to that. He can save this. 

Monty clicks into his email to check the report, and frowns.

**From:** Bellamy Blake ( bellamy.blake@dc.theark.org)  
**To:** Monty Miller ( monty.miller@dc.theark.org)  
**Subject:** Miller  
  
His plant’s drooping. What happened.

Monty closes the email without sending a response, something caught in his throat. He looks over the report, making a few odd changes, but Miller’s been as thorough as ever, and the only things Monty really has to add are things Clarke hasn’t got Bellamy to agree with her on yet. 

When Monty’s done, he hovers for a second, two, and then he skips to the end of the document and adds a comment: _sorry I’ve not been around, it’s been a busy week._

He makes himself leave it at that – it’s not a big deal, _it’s not a big deal_ – but when he checks the document half an hour later, the comment’s been resolved. 

*

Monty will later say that it’s all Jasper’s fault, but to be fair, it is at least eighty per cent Jasper’s fault. He brings the weed and his ridiculous puppy dog eyes right to Monty’s desk, and he says, “I haven’t been the best friend, lately,” and, “You look like you seriously need it.”

Monty doesn’t actually get high at work that often, despite the rumours, but he’s never been more tempted than this moment. 

“Just one joint,” he says finally, “Clarke’ll be back from lunch in an hour,” and Jasper grins. 

One joint turns into two which turns into smoking most of Jasper’s stash on the roof of the office building, staring up at the clouds in the sky. Monty’s limbs have gone loose and his head is pleasantly hazy, empty of everything but vague contentment, and, fuck, he did need this. He sort of wishes he had his guitar, something creative to do with his hands, but he can settle for picking out shapes in the clouds. Only about half of them are parts of Miller’s face. 

“Thanks, man,” Monty says, and means it. Jasper’s got his head on Monty’s stomach, but he lifts it up with what looks like monumental effort to look down at Monty. 

“Any time,” he says. “You know that, right? I’m here for you. If you ever need to talk about anything, or... or anyone. I’m here for you.”

That’s a bit more intense than Monty can manage right now. He giggles. “Missed you,” he says. 

“Missed you too,” Jasper says, smiling goofily at him, and that’s when Miller emerges on the roof. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he says, and both Monty _and_ Jasper giggle, this time, collapsing on each other. “You know Clarke’s been looking for you, right?”

Monty draws in a long gasp, pretending to be horrified. On some level, he’s aware that he _should_ be horrified, but that’s something for future, sober Monty to deal with. 

“For _fuck’s_ sake,” Miller repeats, and hauls them both up on their feet. Monty overbalances and falls into Miller’s side and giggles again. Miller’s neck is right there, and Monty turns his head and presses his lips against it. Miller’s head jerks away, and some distant part of Monty’s brain observes that he’s going to be upset about that later. 

“Right,” Miller says, quiet this time, “I’ll just let you two sober up, then,” and another long blink later, he’s vanished from the roof. 

*

“You’re still here,” Clarke says, surprised, as she’s leaving at the end of the day. 

Monty tries to look like he isn’t still feeling generally useless and hazy. Weed always fucks him up on the come-down, and he always forgets it. 

“You know me,” he says, “always working,” and can’t stop the guilt when Clarke smiles at him and says, “Honestly,” and, “At least promise me you won’t be here all night, okay?”

He takes his laptop into one of the meeting rooms when she’s gone, because there’s basically no one left in the office, and it’s too big a space to be that quiet. He thinks about plugging his laptop into the big screen and watching a movie, but he has a massive backlog to work on, and he’ll be so pissed at himself in the morning if he doesn’t at least try and get through it. 

The door opens about ten minutes later, and Monty looks up, surprised. He thought everyone else had left. 

“Thought I’d find you in here,” Miller says. He’s not smiling, but his face is smooth, no trace of anger, or judgement, or scorn. Monty’s gaze trips over his neck, anyway. “Mind if I join you?”

Monty shakes his head, and Miller takes the seat next to him. 

“You covered for us,” Monty says, when Miller doesn’t say anything. Usually he enjoys that they can just sit for ages without needing to speak, but he can’t stop fidgeting. It’s probably the drugs, he thinks, and doesn’t really believe it. 

Miller shrugs, his face carefully blank. “Not my business.”

“But-”

“You work hard, and you love your job,” Miller says. “You can take a few hours off.”

“Thank you,” Monty says, and Miller shrugs again, but he smiles at Monty before he goes back to work. 

*

“So, what is it this t- you’re not Miller,” Monty says, stopping short. 

“Miller’s got the death flu,” Bellamy says tersely from where he’s hunched over Miller’s computer. “I told him to go the fuck home before I fired him, but I need the report on the Mountain and he’s not answering his phone and I _can’t find it_.”

Monty ducks in next to him, moving the keyboard so he can type. He pulls up the terminal and does a quick search, which takes a minute or so to run – Monty makes a mental note to talk to Miller about archiving his fucking files every now and again – but returns a few promising-looking results. 

He opens the most recent one. “This it?” he asks, glancing at Bellamy. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy says on an exhale, “thanks, Monty.”

“No problem,” Monty says, and doesn’t give him the usual reminder that this isn’t actually his job, you know, come _on_ , guys. 

Instead of heading straight back to his desk, he knocks on Clarke’s door and pokes his head inside. 

“Hey,” he says, “do you mind if I go home a bit early? I’ve been putting in a lot of overtime and everything should be sorted for tomorrow, at least.”

“Of course,” Clarke says, brightening. “I’m glad you’re taking a break, you definitely look like you need it. Have you got plans, or something?”

“I’m just going to check in on Miller, actually,” Monty says. “Bellamy says he’s sick.”

“Oh,” Clarke draws out, and then her mouth does something that looks a lot like a smirk. “Well, give him my best.”

Monty narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything, just in case she suddenly finds something she absolutely needs him to work on right now. Clarke has no right to look at him like that; Monty’s seen the way she’s been looking at Bellamy and Raven, recently, the way she’s always looked at Wells, and Monty hasn’t said a _thing_.

It doesn’t take Monty long to get to Miller’s apartment. He almost waits longer outside the building after pressing the buzzer, because he doesn’t get a response, has to awkwardly follow someone in when they open the door themselves, smiling his best not-a-thief-or-a-serial-killer smile. 

When he gets up to Miller’s floor, he knocks on Miller’s door, frowning. “Miller?” he calls out cautiously. 

There’s a thump, like a bunch of things falling on the ground, and then cursing, and then barking, and a few seconds later, the door swings open. 

“Wow,” Monty says, after a second, “you really do look like death.”

Miller glares at him, but it’s so weak it’s more endearing than anything else. “What are you doing here.”

“Uh,” Monty says. It had seemed like a good idea, back at the office. Friends check in on friends when they’re sick. Now, with Miller standing in front of him, flushed and sleepy-eyed and wearing only an open dressing gown over his boxers, he’s less sure. “You’ve literally never taken a sick day before. I just wanted to check you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Miller insists, and it might have been convincing had he not dissolved into hacking coughs mere seconds later. 

Monty raises his eyebrows. 

“I _was_ fine,” Miller mutters, looking mutinous. “I was in bed.”

“Sorry,” Monty says, making a face at the way Miller’s swaying on the spot, gently, like he’s not even aware it’s happening. 

Miller tries to say something, but it gets lost in another cough. Monty puts a hand on his back and steers him in the general direction of his bedroom. Miller sort of leans into it, slumping back against him, and if Monty wasn’t worried about him before, he definitely is now. He puts a hand to Miller’s forehead and, yeah, just like he expected, Miller’s burning up. 

“I’m gonna get you a cold compress,” Monty decides, when Miller’s climbed back into bed, “is there anything else you need?”

Miller starts to shake his head, but then he sighs. “Lacey’s in the living room. Can you take her for a walk? I tried to take her earlier but-"

"You realised what a terrible idea it was for you to venture out into the cold and got the fuck back in bed?"

"She gets antsy if she doesn't get walked," Miller says defensively. "I had to tie her up in the living room with her food and water bowls, she's probably eaten through the couch." Monty nods, and Miller closes his eyes and sighs. "Thanks."

"No problem," Monty says, but Miller's already asleep, snoring softly. 

He hasn’t even moved when Monty gets back with Lacey, pokes his head around the door to check in on him. She immediately jumps up onto the bed and whines softly, pillowing her head on his chest and nuzzling. 

“Same, buddy,” Monty says, and goes to collect the mug and bowls sitting on Miller’s bedside table. He manages to upset the lamp as he does so, knocking it back against the wall, nowhere near hard enough to break it but hard enough for Miller to stir, make a sort of snuffling noise, and Monty to bite back a curse. 

He glances down, after a second, just to check, and Miller’s gone back to sleep, thank God, but he’s also really… soft, in a way people always are when they’re asleep but Miller never, ever seems to be, in a way that makes Monty want to smooth down his blankets and climb in next to him. 

Monty exhales slowly, and then turns around and shuts the door very quietly behind him. 

Miller's kitchen is a mess, which is to say there are four bowls and three cups in the sink, and still-fresh chicken soup spilt on one of the counters. The philodendron on the table is drooping.

Monty waters all of Miller's plants, washes up, wipes the counters down, and nearly jumps out of his skin when there's a wet nose at his elbow and Miller’s sleep-rough voice saying, "You didn't have to do that."

He looks a bit better than he did before, Monty will give him that. Presumably the medicine Monty saw on his bedside table is starting to kick in. 

"You should be in bed," Monty tells him, and Miller shrugs.

"Got hungry."

"I'll make you soup, then," Monty says, "go back to bed."

"I can make myself soup," Miller starts to protest, and Monty says, "If you stay in bed for the rest of the day and keep taking your cold meds, you'll probably feel better enough to go into work tomorrow."

Miller narrows his eyes. Monty just smiles winningly back at him until he sighs, holds his hands up and trudges back into his room, Lacey at his heels.

It takes Monty a bit of fiddling to figure out Miller's microwave – just because he's good with computers doesn't mean he's good with all computers, okay – and then he pours some of the orange juice in the fridge into the biggest glass Miller owns. When he takes the soup and the juice in to Miller, he’s sitting up in bed, but he's at least _in_ bed, which is the important bit.

"Here," Monty says, putting it all down on Miller's bedside table. He pulls up the chair from Miller's desk and sits down beside him. "How are you feeling?"

"Bored," Miller says. "Can you just... talk to me? I stayed in all weekend and I was only in work for half an hour, so I'm feeling pretty people-starved."

"Oh, sure," Monty says. "Um. Harper's started up the photography thing again. She says it's to document the end of our time as The Ark, DC Edition, but it seems to be just an excuse to take pictures of Fox."

"I love that when I ask you to talk to me you decide that means you should get me caught up on office gossip."

Monty grins. "Can’t say I don’t know what you like. Speaking of office gossip," he says, "Finn all but barged into Clarke's office today and demanded to speak to her."

Miller's eyebrows go up. "About what?"

Monty shrugs. "He didn't say, and she was pretty tight-lipped about it. Apparently he's not very happy about the merger, though. He was bitching to Murphy about it."

"Murphy's hardly a reliable source," Miller says, and Monty spreads his hands. 

"Hey, I'm just telling you what the people are saying."

“Don’t do it,” Miller warns, and Monty grins. 

“ _Can you hear the people sing, singing the song of_ -”

“Shut _up_ , seriously,” Miller says, but he’s laughing, and then he’s coughing, and Monty all but shoves the glass of juice at him until he takes a drink. 

“How long have you been like this?” Monty asks, not sure he wants to know the answer. 

“All weekend?” Miller says, and Monty heaves an exasperated sigh. “Hey, I was taking care of myself fine before you showed up.”

“Bellamy had to threaten to fire you before you’d go home,” Monty says, “I’m not sure that counts as taking care of yourself.”

“He told you, huh.” Miller makes a face. “He worries too much.”

“Normally I’d agree, but I’m also looking right at you,” Monty says, amused despite himself. “I’m pretty sure I’m morally obliged to stay here all night to make sure you don’t endanger your health again.”

He’s joking, mostly, but Miller still scowls at him. “You don’t need to look after me.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been ill before,” Miller says, “I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can.”

“I guess I wouldn’t mind the company,” Miller says, after a moment. “I mean, people-starved.”

“Of course,” Monty says, ducking his head to hide his smile. "Movie buddies?"

"Movie buddies," Miller agrees, and Monty turns on the TV at the foot of Miller's bed. When he flicks over to Netflix, it's already ten minutes into Toy Story. "It's a total comfort movie," Miller tells the delighted grin on Monty's face, "shut up."

"You are a sad, strange little man," Monty says solemnly, “and you have my pity,” and Miller smiles, soft. 

*

“Lincoln’s not here,” Monty tells Octavia, when he notices her leaning up against his desk. 

“I’m hurt that you think I wouldn’t just come and see you, Monty,” she says, but she barely waits a whole second before adding, “Wasn’t he supposed to be coming in with Lexa, though?”

Monty shrugs. “She brought some other dude, Gustus something? He’s either her partner or her assistant or her bodyguard, or maybe all three at once.” Octavia frowns. “Anyway, I’d have let you know if he were here. You still owe me for that, by the way.”

“I _do not_ ,” Octavia says, “our deal was you’d help me keep the fact that I’m seeing Lincoln from Bellamy and I’d buy you lunch.”

“Which I did!”

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job,” she says, “because he cornered me yesterday to give me the most awkward _so, you have a boyfriend_ talk the world has ever known.”

“I didn’t tell him,” Monty says, and Octavia says, “You told _Miller_ ,” and Monty says, with dawning realisation, “Ah.”

“ _Ah_.”

“I didn’t tell Miller either,” he says defensively, “he just kind of… worked it out. And that was ages ago!”

Octavia shrugs. “Maybe the death flu made your boyfriend turn evil, I don’t know, Bellamy only just found out.”

“I- Miller’s not my boyfriend,” Monty gets out, after a few moments of gaping at her. 

“Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” Octavia says, “what do you call each other, then?”

“Um, _friend_?”

Octavia’s eyebrows knit together. “So you’re not dating, like, at all?”

Miller’s slightly concerned by how genuinely confused Octavia seems. “We’re really not.”

“The entire office thinks you are,” Octavia tells him, and Monty says, only a little hysterical, “Well, the entire office is _wrong_.”

“Okay,” Octavia draws out, but doesn’t push it, just nods and smiles sort of reassuringly at him. Monty doesn’t know why she thinks she needs to be reassuring. Monty doesn’t think he wants to know. “So, lunch? I was heading out anyway, and you have that look you get when you’ll just work through your break if no one actually drags you away from your desk.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Monty lies. “I have never done that.”

“Mmhmm,” Octavia agrees. 

She waits patiently as Monty gets his work in a fit state to leave for an hour and gets up out of his desk chair. As they round the corner to get to the stairs, Monty bumps right into Gustus. 

“Oh, sorry,” Monty says, and Gustus nods gruffly before striding off. Monty frowns, but then they’re passing Finn’s office, and Monty glances sidelong at Octavia, his attention captured by something far more interesting. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about-”

“No,” Octavia says. 

“Haven’t you-”

“Nope,” Octavia says, grinning now. “Sorry, Monty, but unlike some people around here, I actually can keep a secret.”

Monty sighs dramatically, but he knows when to push, so he just leaves it at that. 

*

“You told Bellamy about Lincoln and Octavia,” Monty says, later, as Miller comes through the door of the meeting room. 

“Uh,” Miller says, freezing up. “I thought you had a problem.”

“I do have a problem,” Monty says, “Octavia thought I betrayed her. I would _never_ betray a free lunch.”

Miller relaxes at that, laughing a little. “I didn’t mean to, man, I’m sorry,” he says. “We were at the gym, and he was spotting me, and we were talking about- other stuff. He caught me off guard.”

“Right,” Monty says, and before he can really think it through, adds, “Did you know everyone in the office thinks we’re dating?”

“That’s, uh.” Miller coughs. “That’s actually what we were talking about. Told you, caught me off guard.”

“Oh.” Monty tries valiantly to look Miller in the eye, and ends up somewhere behind his head. “It’s weird, right?”

“Totally weird,” Miller agrees. “Uh, if that was it, I kind of have a lot of work to do.”

“Yeah, me too,” Monty says, “so much work, all of the work,” and Miller jerks a nod and sort of backs out of the room. 

*

It’s awkward for, like, a week, in an entirely different way to the week Monty avoided all trace of Miller in the vain attempt to be less in love with him was awkward. Monty and Miller are the hot new gossip at the water cooler, which he knows because everyone gets quiet as he approaches, and Roma just smirks at him when he tries to bring up Raven and Bellamy’s matching hickies. 

It doesn’t help that, on Thursday, a sprig of mistletoe appears above the break room door. 

“It’s November,” Mbege says, disgusted, and Monty nods his sad, solemn agreement behind him. 

Mbege takes it down, but by lunch time, it’s back and it’s multiplied, judging from the way there’s suddenly mistletoe all over the office. People seem to have taken this as some kind of sign; Monty can hear the faint strains of Christmas music from the other side of the office, and laments leaving his earbuds in his other bag that morning. 

The thing is, because this is just Monty’s luck, lately, when he comes out of the break room with the food he was foolish enough to store in the fridge that morning, he bumps right into Miller. 

“Uh,” he says, because he can see the mistletoe above their head without having to look up, he can _see it_ , and his heart is suddenly pounding. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Miller says, and then, “Mistletoe, can you fucking believe it,” and the thing is, _the thing is_ , it’s the easiest thing in the world for Monty to smile back at him. 

“It’s November,” Monty echoes, and Miller shakes his head, steps back to let Monty go past him. 

*

_XMAS EMERGENCY!!!!!!_ , Monty sends to Miller, and when Clarke isn’t looking, runs. Miller’s already in their meeting room when Monty gets there, which Monty will feel gratified about later.

“Clarke has no idea what to get Bellamy,” Monty says, all in one breath, “and she’s got _me_ looking at gifts. I don’t even know where to start, or what kind of budget I should be working with, or if Clarke wants it to be a personal gift or the kind of gift that says we work together and I might admit to liking you under threat of torture but we’re not _friends_ -”

“Hey, man, breathe,” Miller says, but he’s not laughing, like he maybe probably should be. Monty knows he’s overreacting, but it’s Christmas. Christmas stresses him the fuck out. “Bellamy was just gonna get her paints. I told him that was a bad idea.”

“Clarke gets art supplies from everyone,” Monty agrees. “It just makes her sad because she never has any time for it.”

“So you’re thinking we can help each other out?” Miller says, and Monty nods. “Smart, Monty, you’re smart.”

Monty doesn’t feel very smart. He’s been working late staring at the screen reading the same sentence over and over and not understanding a word more days than he would care to count. He fucked up Clarke’s schedule earlier this week, and he managed to fix it before it did any lasting damage and she _said_ it was fine, but he still had to go and lock himself in a stall in the bathroom until he could breathe normally again. He can’t wait for this goddamn holiday season to be over. 

“Monty,” Miller says, putting a hand on Monty’s shoulder, “hey,” and Monty exhales a harsh breath, but the next one comes a lot easier with Miller’s fingers stroking absently over his back. “Christmas is only a passing shadow, you know. Even commercialised holidays must pass.”

Monty laughs, his eyes fluttering shut for a second as he leans back into Miller’s touch. 

“And when the sun shines,” Monty says, “it’ll shine out the clearer,” and Miller’s answering smile doesn’t fix anything, but it does make his chest feel lighter, and that’s enough. 

*

Monty isn’t hiding in the break room. Hiding would imply that he’s out of sight. Hiding would imply that anybody who walked in here wouldn’t be able to see him. 

He might be under the table, but that’s beside the point. 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, _not_ hiding, before the door swings open. Familiar footsteps make their way over to the table, and then Miller’s sitting on the ground next to him. He doesn’t say anything, but he bumps Monty’s shoulder and doesn’t move away, and it dislodges the hard, tight thing that had settled in Monty’s throat. 

“How’s the party?” he asks, after a minute. 

“All right,” Miller says. “People were wondering where you’d got to.”

“Oh.” Monty looks down, drums his hands on the tops of his thighs. “It’s just a bit overwhelming, you know?”

“Yeah,” Miller agrees. “It’s been a long year, but we made it.”

He holds out a fist, and Monty bumps it gently. There’s another comfortable silence for a few minutes, and then he says, “Clarke really liked her gift, you know.”

“Bellamy really liked his,” Miller says, “though he’s going to be quoting the Silmarillion for at least the next three months, I hope you realise what you’ve unleashed.”

Monty smiles, because Miller does, and because it’s easy with the warmth of him against Monty’s side. 

“I wanted to give you this,” Miller says. “It’s not- I just saw it, when I was shopping around for Clarke. I thought you’d like it.”

He holds out a small, neatly-wrapped package with _Monty_ written in green sharpie on the front. Monty chuckles as he tears it, but carefully, so it doesn’t rip open his name. 

Inside, there’s a pick-holder shaped like a robot, and it has a tiny M scratched into its foot. “Oh, wow,” Monty says, “that is adorable.”

“Shut up,” Miller says around a laugh, “it’s nerdy, you’re nerdy.”

“Thanks,” Monty says dryly. “I actually have something for you too. I wasn’t sure if we were the kind of friends who get each other gifts, so I might have been waiting to see if you got me anything first.”

Miller laughs. “So it would’ve just languished in your desk if I hadn’t come and found you?”

“Until the end of time,” Monty confirms, “or until Clarke fires me, whichever comes first.”

“Clarke’s not going to fire you,” Miller says, like it’s as true as his next breath. “And if she ever does, she’s a goddamn fool.”

Monty doesn’t know how to deal with that. It’s one thing from Clarke, who Monty would follow to the ends of the world if she asked, but Miller is… not Clarke. 

“I, uh, have it on me, actually,” Monty says, and doesn’t say that he keeps it tucked in his shirt pocket at all times, because Miller is already aware that Monty is a giant nerd. He doesn’t need to know that he’s a creep, too. 

“Hit me,” Miller says, “unless that’s it, in which case I take back what I said before about you being good at gifts.”

“Uh, no. It’s a mini terrarium,” Monty says, fishing it out by the string it’s looped on. “They’re kind of cool?”

“Super cool,” Miller says, entirely serious, and he turns slightly so he can wrap his arms around Monty and squeeze. Miller works out – he brings his gym bag to work with him, sometimes – and Monty is maybe enjoying too much the feel of all those muscles pressed up against him. It’s okay. He already knew he was doomed. 

“Happy holidays,” he says softly. 

“You too,” Miller says, “and for fuck’s sake, actually take a break for five minutes?”

“You sound like Clarke,” Monty tells him, “but, yeah, okay.”

By the time they head back to the party, there’s a circle of people playing spin the bottle, and Wells, sitting right on the edge of it, looks like he’s having minor heart palpitations. 

“Monty,” Harper cries, jumping to her feet. She pulls him into an unsteady hug, and then she draws back. “Wait, you guys missed photos. Photos!”

Monty steps back obediently, next to Miller, and Miller puts an arm around his shoulder while they pose. Monty tries not to smile too widely as he leans into him, but he really is enjoying this whole proximity thing. 

“Excellent,” Harper draws out, and then she drags Monty down to sit next to her. She also hands him a bottle, which he gracefully accepts. 

“Hey,” Bellamy says, leaning forward, “no, not cool, no forcing people to play if they don’t want to. _Wells_ isn’t playing.”

“Are you guys _aware_ ,” Wells says, like this isn’t the first time he’s said this, “how many office statutes this is breaking.”

Bellamy ignores him, still staring kind of intensely at Monty, until Monty says, “Uh, it’s cool, I’m up for it.”

Bellamy leans back, satisfied. “We’ll start with you, then, don’t think we didn’t know you were hiding from us.”

Laughing, Monty dutifully spins. When he looks up, the bottle is pointing at Clarke. It’s a hair away from pointing at Miller, and Monty doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed. 

Clarke’s wearing chapstick, berry-flavoured, and the small, chaste kiss she gives him feels nice. She spins, and she gets Bellamy, and pretty much the whole room wolf-whistles as one. Clarke goes a bit red, but she goes right up to him and kisses him on the mouth, one hand twisting in his hair. 

When they break apart, Raven says, “Well, if _you_ got to kiss her,” and crawls into the centre to pull Clarke’s face to hers. 

“Oh my god,” Wells says, and Bellamy smirks and says, “Jealous, Jaha?” and Wells says, “Oh my _god_ ,” again, but quieter. 

It sort of dissolves, after that, the group breaking down into smaller factions. Monty ends up with Harper and Fox leaning against him, and Jasper’s head in his lap. Monty scratches absently at Jasper’s scalp, curling his hand in Jasper’s hair, and Jasper looks up at him and smiles a wide, upside-down smile. 

“You,” he pronounces, “are way too sober. Shots?”

“Shots,” they all chorus, and Bellamy looks over with his frowny face on, and Monty says, “Shots, _excellent_ ,” because it means a lot, honestly, how much Bellamy cares, but Monty doesn’t need another parent. He is 2000% here for shots. 

“Somebody pass me a lime and the salt shaker,” Jasper commands, hiking up his shirt, “we’re doing this properly.”

Monty giggles, pitching forward a little bit with it. Jasper’s face is close enough to kiss, and they’ve done that before, and it’s never been a big deal, but Jasper’s also never had a girlfriend like Maya before. Monty settles for brushing his mouth over the bridge of Jasper’s nose, then shifting so he’s sitting cross-legged by Jasper’s bare belly. 

He catches Miller’s gaze as he moves, and he’s looking at Monty sort of strangely, but Monty doesn’t think about it for too long, because somebody’s pressing a lime into his hands, and he’s already leaning down to lick at Jasper’s skin. 

*

Wells schedules a sexual harassment seminar for their second day back at work, which Monty forgets all about until he, Jasper and Miller get to the office and wonder why nobody's at their desks.

"Monty, Miller," Wells says, seizing on them as they hurry through the door. "Since you're so late, you can be my volunteers."

"Jasper was late, too," Miller protests, and they were only late because they couldn’t tear Jasper away from Maya, so it’s really him who should be enduring the torture of being – _shudder_ – volunteered, instead of escaping to take a seat at the back, giving them a cheeky thumbs-up as he sits down.

"The roleplays only have two parts," Wells says, and, wonderful, roleplaying, Monty's _favourite_. "Though you raise a good point – these scenarios apply equally to relationships involving more than two people." He coughs significantly, and Clarke suddenly looks very interested in her fingernails. Raven and Bellamy might be smirking. Monty needs to know exactly what happened over the winter break, like, yesterday. "Here are the scripts. I want you to read your parts, and the people who bothered to turn up to the first half of the seminar can tell you how to respond to the situation."

Monty looks down at the sheet of paper Wells handed him. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi. I’ve been-” Miller coughs, rubs a hand over his face. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Monty says politely. Seriously? Did Wells write these himself? 

“Would you like to get lunch with me?”

Monty couldn’t feel more mortified if he tried, right now. He sort of hates Wells a little bit. “Um. No, thank you.”

"But I- fuck it, this is stupid," Miller says, and starts towards Monty, curling a hand around Monty’s shoulder. Monty backs up a few steps, alarmed.

"What are you doing?"

"Excellent," Wells says, his face lighting up, "what should happen now?"

"Miller should back the fuck up," Octavia pipes up. "Monty's body language clearly indicates that he doesn't want him to come any closer."

Wells nods approvingly. "And what can Monty do if Miller doesn't?"

“Punch him,” Monroe says, and Sterling says, “Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin,” and the two of them hi-five without looking at each other. 

“Um, yes,” Wells says, “anything else?”

“Use his words,” Raven says, “and _then_ punch Miller.”

Wells rubs his forehead. “Can we not, so much,” he says, “with the violence.”

“Report him to a superior,” Bellamy says, and Monty doesn’t know why that makes Miller turn his head and glare at him, but it’s positively murderous. Monty’s sort of impressed by the depth of venom Miller was able to conjure up on the spot. 

“Yes, exactly,” Wells says, beaming. This seems to have been the cue he was waiting for, because he launches into the next section of the workshop and Monty and Miller can, thank the Lord, finally take a seat. 

*

“So,” Monty says, “you and Wells and Bellamy and Raven.” He frowns. “That’s gonna be a mouthful. Do you have a smush name? We should give you a smush name.”

Clarke goes red, and pointedly does not look at him as she accepts the stack of papers he hands over. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Monty says agreeably. “And neither does anyone else in the office, I suppose.”

Clarke turns even redder. “Don’t you all have work to be doing?”

Grinning, Monty backs out of the office and returns to his own desk. He’s going through his email backlog from over the holidays when Lincoln appears at his desk with Octavia. 

“I need to talk to Clarke,” he says urgently, “is she around?”

Monty frowns. “She’s in a meeting right now. What is this about?”

Lincoln’s gaze flickers over him, assessing. 

“You can trust him,” Octavia says, low, “there’s no way it was him.”

Monty looks at Octavia, her perfect braid, her tired eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Not here,” Octavia says, and something about her voice makes Monty just nod and say, “I know a place we can go.”

Miller’s in the meeting room when Monty pushes open the door, which he might have been sort of counting on. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Lincoln, but whatever this is, it’s serious. 

“Uh,” Miller says, looking around at all of them, “hi?”

Lincoln looks like he’s about to turn around and leave, but Monty just stays where he is, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Are you going to tell me what this is about now?” Monty asks. Miller’s eyebrows go up. “Uh. Are you going to tell us what this is about?”

Lincoln just looks at Octavia, and Octavia shrugs. “Bell trusts him,” she says, “I trust him.”

Lincoln looks stone-faced for another second longer, and then he exhales. “Someone sabotaged the merge.”

*

Clarke doesn’t look pleased when she follows Miller into the meeting room. “This had better be- oh, hi, Lincoln.” She stiffens up almost immediately. “What happened?”

“Every last one of our data banks has been corrupted,” Lincoln informs her. “Lexa wants your heads. She would be here herself if she weren’t running damage control. I convinced her to let me try and sort this out.”

“But that wasn’t us,” Clarke says, frowning. “I promise you, nobody here had anything to do with something like that.”

“The attack came from one of our computers,” Bellamy says. Monty feels everyone’s eyes on him, and doesn’t look up from where he’s trying to trace it. “Whoever did this had access to their files that only we have.”

“I know you trust your colleagues,” Lincoln says, “but any one of them could have done this.”

Bellamy nods, grim. “I need you to find out who’s behind this,” he says to Miller. “People trust you; they’ll talk to you.”

“No need,” Monty says dully. “I know where the attack came from.”

*

"But I _didn't do it_ ," Finn says fiercely. 

“Lexa says if you fire him and ruin any chance of him having a career after this,” Lincoln says, not looking up from where he’s typing furiously on his phone, “she’ll only destroy this branch of the Ark.”

Monty doesn’t think he’s ever seen Clarke this angry. Her knuckles are white where they’re gripping the sides of the chair Miller shoved Finn into. 

“Did anyone else have access to your computer,” Bellamy says, but like he knows he has to ask. He’s got one hand covering his face, and he sounds utterly defeated. 

Finn bites his lip. “I swear, this wasn’t me,” he says. "Yeah, I had my doubts, but I wouldn't sabotage everything we’ve worked for over them. I’m being set up."

Clarke’s laugh is harsh. “Just like you were set up when you found that list of clients that weren’t yours to take?”

“ _Clarke_.”

“You’re fired,” Clarke says, and Wells coughs. 

“We can’t actually do that,” he points out, and Clarke sighs. 

“Fine, you’re suspended, pending an investigation. Pack up your stuff. If you’re still here in half an hour, I’ll escort you out myself.”

Finn looks pleadingly around the room, but no one will meet his gaze. Clarke steps back, and Finn gets up, holding himself very still for a moment, before he leaves. 

It’s sombre in the office after Finn has cleared out his desk. Monty doesn’t think anybody’s working, but nobody’s really talking, either. He’s staring at his computer, documents open in front of him, unable to parse a single sentence. They did all that work, just for things to get even worse than they were before. They did all that work. 

“You sure it was Finn?” Raven asks him, breaking the unbearable silence. 

“Positive,” Monty says dully. “The trail led me right to him.”

“Convenient,” Raven comments, looking sidelong at him. 

Monty exhales. “Yeah. But Finn’s not always smart, is he?”

“True.” Raven’s silent for a few more minutes, and then she says, “What if it wasn’t Finn, though?”

“Raven-”

“Hear me out. What if it wasn’t any of us? What if this actually was a set-up?”

“It’d make more sense, I guess,” Monty says, because it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. “Grounders don’t need the merger like we do. Once they recover all their data, they’ll be on their feet again like nothing happened.”

Raven nods. “So it’s possible.”

“They’d still have had to do it without tripping any alarms or appearing on any security cameras,” Monty says, “we’d have heard about a break-in by now.”

“Not if we let them in,” Raven says, looking right at where Lincoln is standing with Octavia on the other side of the room. 

Monty narrows his eyes. “We have no way of knowing-”

“Exactly,” Raven says, but before she can say anything else, Bellamy’s gesturing for everyone to gather around. 

“Right, everyone,” he says tiredly, “I don’t think there’s much point in staying here today. We’re closing up early. Unless you hear otherwise, though, you’re all still coming in on Monday.”

“Here’s hoping,” Murphy calls out, but even he looks as worried as everyone else. 

*

Monty walks home with Miller, because Jasper’s heading over to Maya’s, and they’re heading in the same direction, so it just makes sense. They walk in silence, uneasy, but comfortable, until they get to Monty’s door and Monty glances at Miller, and Miller sort of looks back at him. 

“You wanna come in?”

Miller shrugs, so Monty lets them both into his building. Miller’s been here before, for a party Jasper and Monty threw when they joined the company, and he makes himself comfortable on their sofa while Monty puts his stuff away. 

His phone buzzes as he’s sitting down to join Miller. It’s a text, from Raven: _talked to bellamy, we’re looking into it. i’ll keep you posted._

“Talked to Bellamy about what?” Miller asks, and Monty says, “ _Nosy_ ,” and Miller shrugs, unrepentant. 

“She thinks the sabotage came from within Grounders,” Monty says. Bellamy’ll tell him at some point, anyway, he knows. “She thinks Finn was set up.”

“She _would_ think that.”

“Hey, she might be right,” Monty retorts. He’d had his doubts when Raven brought it up, but something just feels off about this whole thing, and it’s been bothering him since he traced the signal back to Finn’s computer. 

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Miller says. “Even if it wasn’t Finn, we’re still fucked. Grounders are going to ruin us.”

Monty laughs softly. “It’s been nice working with you,” he says, and Miller does a little half-salute back. “Any last requests?”

“I always figured I’d ask for pizza, you know, as a last meal,” Miller says. “Nothing loves you like pizza loves you.”

“True,” Monty agrees. “Pizza?”

“Pizza.”

Monty’s still holding his phone, slipping it self-consciously from hand to hand, so he gets up the app to order pizza and starts scrolling through. 

“Any preference?” he asks. 

“Anything that isn’t pineapple,” Miller says, “that’s just fucking sacrilege.”

“Do you have _any_ correct opinions about food?” Monty grumbles, but he keeps saying scrolling, only lingering slightly mournfully over the Hawaiian. “Meat Feast okay?”

“Always,” Miller says, grinning, and Monty thinks he should get some kind of award for just rolling his eyes and not even blushing a little bit. 

“Remember when Monroe got pizza delivered to her desk?”

Miller snickers. “And by the end of the week, Clarke had to ban it because everyone was using the delivery people to troll her?”

“Yeah,” Monty says, laughing softly.“I’m really gonna miss the Ark.”

“Hey,” Miller says, “it’s not over yet. We’re not going down without a fight. And, y’know.” He shrugs. “Maybe Raven isn’t totally wrong about Finn. There’s a chance.”

Monty bumps his shoulder, makes something like a smile with his mouth. “Wanna kill zombies while we wait for the pizza to get here?”

“I am definitely in a zombie-killing kinda mood,” Miller says, and takes the controller Monty hands him with a nod of thanks. 

*

Monty must drift off at some point, because when he blinks his eyes open, sunlight’s streaming through the windows and the TV screen’s been turned off and Jasper’s standing over him, staring at the way Monty and Miller are sort of tangled up together on the sofa. 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Monty says, automatically. “We’re not- we’re not.”

“I know,” Jasper says neutrally, “you’d have told me.”

“If you were around to tell,” Monty says, just as neutrally, and Jasper grimaces like _fair enough_. 

“I made breakfast,” he says. “I left enough for you guys.”

Monty nods, and Jasper nods back, seemingly frozen for a few moments until he jerks his body around and leaves the room. 

Monty manages to get up with waking Miller, who makes a sort of snuffly grunting noise and burrows further into the sofa, and Monty sort of wishes he had his phone on him to take a picture, except it’s a good thing he doesn’t because Miller would literally murder him. He heads to the shower, cold, because anything else would be distinctly weird, and when he comes out, all of his clothes have disappeared and the only towel left is _tiny_. Monty flushes. He makes a mental note to kill Jasper later, slowly. 

Towel wrapped tight around his waist, he peeks out into the hall. The coast seems to be clear, so he ventures out, resisting the urge to dash to his room and risk his towel slipping. 

“Uh, Monty?”

Monty freezes, hand on the knob of his bedroom door. He turns around, very slowly, and gives Miller a sheepish smile. 

“Jasper stole my clothes,” he explains to Miller’s raised eyebrows, “he thinks he’s funny.”

“I’ll have to remember to thank him,” Miller says, and Monty rolls his eyes. Ha ha, hilarious, just because he doesn’t have a six pack like Miller clearly must do doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a chest worth ogling. Miller’s sarcasm is not appreciated. 

*

Things are awkward for the next week or so, everyone quietly going on with their work and even more quietly wondering how much longer there’s going to be work for them to do, and Monty doesn’t mention it to Clarke when she asks how people are doing. Finn’s empty office is like a black hole on the side of the floor; people go out of their way not to have to walk past it.

Except Wick, who’s in and out all the time, these days. Monty tries not to think about it; he’s got too much else on his plate. He knows Raven’s still looking into the Finn-was-framed angle, but with every day that passes, it seems less and less likely. They’re fucked. It’s okay. They’ll get through it somehow. 

And then Lexa and Gustus come into the office for the dissolution meeting, and everything gets a lot less quiet. 

“Let’s go find a meeting room, shall we?” Clarke says, smiling through gritted teeth as more and more people start clustering around them. “Monty, come on."

Clarke leads them into one of the nicer meeting rooms, with fancier chairs and a coffee machine in the corner. Everyone sits round the big table, studiously not looking at each other, except for Lexa, carefully controlled rage under her usual calm exterior. 

Monty’s phone buzzes quietly; it’s a message from Miller, and all it says is _stall_. 

“Uh,” he says, looking up quickly, “can I get anyone coffee? We probably have tea, as well, somewhere.”

“No,” Lexa says, and Monty tries not to wither under her glare. “Where’s Bellamy?”

Clarke’s given up on smiling. “He should just be a minute.”

Monty tries to communicate with his eyebrows that this is probably unlikely. Clarke just frowns back at him. She mustn’t have been paying attention in Wells’s non-verbal communication seminar, but this is no time for Monty to get huffy about his boss’s hypocritical tendencies. 

“Then we’ll start without him,” Lexa says shortly. “I want this finished.”

“No,” Clarke says, just as stubborn. “We do this with all of us or we don’t do it at all.”

Lexa’s mouth sets, but after a moment, she says, “As you wish,” and Clarke exhales. 

Before the tense silence can get any worse, Raven bursts into the room, Bellamy right behind her. Lexa rises to her feet, eyes narrowed. 

“What’s going on here?”

“It wasn’t Finn,” Raven says, breathing heavily, “it was _him_.” Her hand’s shaking where it’s pointing right at Gustus. “He broke into Finn’s office to frame him.”

“This is outrageous,” Gustus says, but he’s flushed, and he can’t maintain eye contact. “You’ll stop at nothing to save your own skin.”

“We have evidence,” Bellamy says evenly, and steps forward to place the folder he’s carrying on the table. “We couldn’t be sure, at first, but I think you’ll see it’s pretty damning.”

Lexa pulls the folder towards her and opens it. Gustus says her name, sounding panicked, now, and she exhales, slowly, before looking up at him. 

“You wrote the code,” she says. “You didn’t even try and hide it. You had all the access that was needed, and then you broke into Mr Collins’s office to make sure it went back to him. You sabotaged us.”

“Not us,” Gustus says, desperate, “ _this_. This merger is a mistake, I couldn’t let you-”

“We’re done here,” Lexa says, getting to her feet. She turns to Clarke. “I assume you still have all the paperwork. We can continue as we planned before.”

With that, she sweeps out of the room, and Gustus looks round at all of them, once, before running after her. 

“Well,” Clarke says, into the silence, “I guess I’m gonna have to apologise to Finn.”

*

The whole office goes out after work that Friday. It’s not a celebration, not exactly, but the air in The Ark has been physically lighter this past week. Job security can do that to you, especially when they were so sure they were doomed for so long. 

Monty, for his part, is exhilarated. The bar they go to has karaoke, and it only takes him a few drinks to decide that karaoke is a _fantastic_ idea that he needs to actualise in his life. He sings Taylor Swift and gets really into it and gets several rounds of cheers for his trouble, which is nice. 

He can’t find anyone when he gets off the stage, which is weird, but the bar’s pretty crowded and there’s another level upstairs, so, whatever, it’s not a big deal. He eventually spots a familiar beanie on the other side of the room, though, and squeezes his way through the crowd. 

“Miller!” he says, maybe just a bit too loudly. “I was great, wasn’t I? Tell me I was great.”

There’s a funny little smile on Miller’s face when he says, “You were great, Monty.”

Monty beams. “ _You’re_ great. You’re my favourite.”

“Jasper’s your favourite,” Miller corrects, and Monty makes a face. 

“Jasper’s not _here_. And neither’s anybody else, I don’t think, so you’re my favourite by default.”

“Thanks,” Miller says dryly. “They all went upstairs. I stayed behind so you wouldn’t think we’d just left you here.”

“ _Favourite_ ,” Monty says, but he thinks the alcohol might get in the way of his sincerity, because Miller just laughs. “We should probably go find them. But first: shots.”

“I don’t think they do them with salt and lime,” Miller says, and Monty frowns. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Miller says, short, “c’mon, there’s a lull at the bar, we might not have to wait half an hour to get served.”

After they knock back their shots, they head out to go upstairs, but Monty’s barely gone three feet from the bar before he’s almost face-planting into the floor. 

“Whoa,” Miller says, steadying him, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” Monty says, “shots just... maybe weren’t such a good idea.” He sways over to one of the booths in the corner and Miller joins him, one hand still on Monty’s back. “You don’t have to- I’ll catch up.”

Miller just looks at him, unimpressed, and he’s- he’s really very pretty, Monty knows this, has noticed Miller’s mouth and his big brown eyes since pretty much his first day at The Ark, but this fact is really hard to ignore right now, with Miller’s face as close to Monty’s as it is. 

“What?” Miller says, frowning. “I swear to God, Monty, if you throw up on me-”

Monty turns his face to brush his lips over Miller’s, swallowing up whatever half-hearted threat he was about to come out with. Miller kisses him back for one glorious second, and then there’s a hand on Monty’s chest pushing him back, and Miller’s entire face is a scowl. 

Abruptly, Monty remembers pressing his mouth to Miller’s neck, the sharp sting of rejection piercing the contented haze, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“You’re drunk,” Miller tells him, blunt, unsympathetic, “and you don’t want this.”

“Yes I do,” Monty says. He doesn’t whine, because that would be ridiculous, but it might sound like he does. A little. “And I’m not _that_ drunk. I know I shouldn’t have kissed you but I thought- I’m sorry, okay?”

“Monty,” Miller says, “shut up.”

“It was stupid,” Monty ploughs on, kind of unable to stop at this point, “but if you don’t want me, just say, just-”

“That’s not it,” Miller says, something strange in his voice. “You said- you said it was weird.”

“ _You_ said it was weird!”

“Only because you did,” Miller says, and Monty opens his eyes, sees the look on Miller’s face. “I thought you knew. It’s not like I was subtle.”

“I-” Monty stops, because words seem kind of redundant, now, and just kisses Miller again, cupping Miller’s chin in his hands to tilt his face up into it. Miller grips Monty's shoulder right back, as if for balance. 

Monty flashes on Wells’s stricken face, two seconds from a lecture on the perilous dynamic of inter-office relationships, and bursts out laughing, tucking his face into the side of Miller’s neck. 

“What?” Miller asks, and when Monty explains reminds him of the disastrous sexual harassment seminar, he chuckles too. “Yeah, we should probably find the others.”

“Yeah,” Monty says, “or we could get out of here.”

He looks sideways at Miller, raising his eyebrows, and Miller coughs. “You, uh, sure you’re not too drunk?”

“I,” Monty says, putting a hand on Miller’s thigh and squeezing, “am _incredibly_ sober.” He pauses. “Or at least I will be by the time we get back to yours.”

Miller raises his eyebrows. “Mine, is it?”

“Yeah,” Monty says, “unless you want Jasper joining in?”

He waggles his eyebrows, and Miller says, “Yeah, okay, mine it is.”

*

He accidentally-on-purpose trips getting into the cab, ends up half in Miller’s lap. He doesn’t move away, and maybe rocks a little back against the hardness he can feel there. 

“You’re fucking shameless,” Miller says, right in his ear, and Monty shivers, turns his head so Miller can see his grin. 

“Maybe not as sober as I thought,” he says, and Miller laughs softly, pushing gently til Monty’s sitting fully on his own seat. 

“Do I have to carry you upstairs?” Miller teases when they get out at his building, and Monty rolls his eyes very heavily and follows Miller inside. He only trips twice getting up the stairs, and ends up just leaning on Miller, perhaps more than is strictly necessary to keep himself upright, but, whatever, Miller doesn’t have to know. 

He goes to kiss Miller as soon as his front door’s closed behind him, but Miller puts a hand on his chest. 

“Whoa,” Miller says, and, “You said you were still, y’know,” and, “I’m not doing this if you’re not 100%.”

“I am _200%_ ,” Monty protests, “250, maybe.”

“Yeah,” Miller says, pushing at his chest until Monty falls back on the sofa, “and that sounds like the alcohol talking.”

“I want you,” Monty says, as serious as he can manage, and Miller’s face does something incredibly gratifying. “Does that sound like the alcohol talking?”

“I’m getting you water,” Miller tells him, “and after you’ve drunk it all, I’ll see what you say.”

Monty drains the glass Miller brings him, puts it down and climbs into Miller’s lap, squeezing his thighs on either side of Miller’s own. 

“Still want you,” he says, and tilts Miller’s chin up so he can kiss him. 

Miller makes a soft noise and kisses Monty back, his hands trailing up Monty’s legs to settle on his waist, firm. Monty rocks into him, because that feels good, so good, Miller holding him in place, and his grip only tightens when Monty moves, so he keeps moving, keeps feeling Miller pulling him in and in. 

His kisses get sloppier, end up less on Miller’s mouth and more just in the vague direction of Miller’s cheek, his ear. He presses his mouth to Miller’s neck, and the noise he gets is so good that he does it again, and again, until Miller physically pushes him back, as far as Monty will go, dropping his forehead against Monty’s own. 

“Are you sure,” Miller says, and Monty groans, long and low, right into Miller’s ear, and rocks his hips determinedly downwards in answer. “Fuck, _fuck_ , okay, okay.”

Miller is, like, six hundred times more coordinated than Monty feels right now, because he gets Monty’s jeans open with a fairly minimum amount of fuss, gets his hands into Monty’s pants and around his dick. Monty shivers as Miller’s fingers flick around the head, and he exhales sharply when Miller starts moving properly, jerking him properly, his grip tight but just haphazard enough to be a tease. Monty gets his own hand in, closing around Miller’s, and moves it just the way he likes, fast and rough and totally unrelenting, and Miller’s breath gets shallow like he’s the one being touched right now. 

Monty doesn’t have the presence of mind to return the favour just yet, and he apologises, mutters his sorrys into Miller’s ear, his promises to touch Miller just like this, just like this, unless Miller wants his mouth instead, which Monty would be so very okay with, and Miller turns his head and bites Monty’s neck and on the next jerk of Miller’s hand, Monty comes, all over Miller’s shirt, gasping into Miller’s ear. 

As soon as he’s recovered, he scrabbles at Miller’s jeans, trying to get them open, and Miller’s laughing, his hands closing around Monty’s wrists. 

“Hey,” he says, “no hurry, come on,” and Monty says, “ _Yes_ hurry, fuck, I want you,” and Miller’s grip tightens for a minute. 

“Jesus,” he says, and, “Okay, yeah,” and lets Monty get his jeans open, helps him get them down over his hips and thighs and ankles. Monty takes his shirt off as well, partly because he’s made it all disgusting, and partly because Miller’s _chest_ , okay, it is just as chiselled and perfect as Monty had always not so vaguely imagined. 

He trails his hands down the length of it, resting for a moment at Miller’s waist, until he settles in between Miller’s thighs and leans down to take Miller’s cock into his mouth. Miller’s hips jerk up instinctively, and Monty presses him back down, stroking absent thumbs over Miller’s belly. He’s thought about this way too often, carried himself through some of his most trying times with it. It’s weird to think that now he’ll have the real thing, a memory and not just a fantasy. 

He licks over the head, swallows around Miller, and in the next second, Miller’s breath shorts out and he comes, hot and salty in Monty’s mouth. Monty flops over him, patting Miller’s belly, and Miller chuckles. He pulls Monty up by the shoulders, kisses him soft on the mouth. 

“I have a bed, you know,” Miller tells him, and Monty grins, going loose and pliant as he lets himself be half-led, half-carried into Miller’s bedroom. 

*

The first thing Monty thinks when he wakes up in bed next to Miller the next morning is _so that wasn’t a dream, **excellent**_. 

The second thing is he thinks is _shit, where’s my phone_. 

He finds it in the pocket of his jacket, at the bottom of a pile of clothes at the foot of Miller’s bed. There’s a string of missed calls and texts, mostly from Jasper, starting with, _SO WHERE DID YOU AND MILLER GET OFF (TO)_ , and ending with, _if you aren’t dead i am killing you both _, and Monty laughs softly to himself.__

___not dead or kidnapped by demons_ , he types out, _call off the dogs_. _ _

__“You sneaking out on me?” Miller asks from behind him, his voice rough, half-asleep, and Monty hides his grin for a few seconds before turning around._ _

__“Never,” he says, entirely serious. “You’re literally not going to be able to make me leave, now, I hope you realise that.”_ _

__Miller’s smile is soft, and he says, “I think I can live with that,” and Monty has to lean down and kiss him._ _

__“So when you say you weren’t subtle,” Monty says, itchingly curious, and Miller groans, turns his head to hide his face in a pillow. “Hey, I didn’t notice.”_ _

__“You were, like, the only one,” Miller tells him. “And I figured you worked it out when you avoided me for a week.”_ _

__Miller’s mouth quirks up, no malice in it at all, but Monty still feels guilty. “It was just-”_ _

__“Weird, I know.”_ _

__Monty pulls his lower lip into his mouth, bites down. “Because I felt weird about- about liking you so much, when you were just being nice. You weren’t weird. _I_ was weird.”_ _

__“You were totally weird,” Miller says, “but, trust me, I definitely wasn’t being nice.”_ _

__He licks his lips, and Monty can’t look away from them, especially now that that’s something he’s just allowed to do. He kisses Miller again, presses him back down into the bed._ _

__*_ _

__Monty looks up as Miller approaches his desk, and grins. “Message from Bellamy?”_ _

__“He says to give Clarke his congratulations on being particularly unreasonable,” Miller says, “and I quote, ‘You’ve really outdone yourself, there’s no way we’ll get the merger back on track by the end of the week.’”_ _

__“I’ll just let her know,” Monty says, and sticks his head around Clarke’s door to yell the message._ _

__Clarke grins at him. “Tell Miller to tell Bellamy I have absolute faith in all of our abilities to pull miracles out of our asses,” she says, “and also that he should take you to lunch.”_ _

__Monty tries to look innocent, but even if he pulls it off, he’s pretty sure Jasper’s told everyone in the entire office already. They’re most definitely the hot gossip at the water cooler, and Monty is so much more than okay with that._ _

__“Clarke says-”_ _

__“I heard,” Miller says, the grin on his face sort of ruining how sarcastic his voice is trying to sound. “She’s not my boss. She can’t tell me what to do.”_ _

__“She really can’t,” Monty agrees, “so I should take _you_ to lunch.”_ _

__Monty smiles at him, hopeful, and Miller just laughs, shaking his head a little. He pulls Monty into his side, his hand trailing down to find Monty’s hand, grip it tight. Monty squeezes back._ _


End file.
